Broken
by therentyoupay
Summary: Three lies Korra tells, and one she doesn't. Pocket language dictionaries, sunflower fields, and a summer filled with all the things that she cannot fix. — AU, mini-series. Mako/Korra, Tahno/Korra.
1. (i)

******Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection. Kudos to Bryke, indeed.**  
****Pairing: **Tahno/Korra, Mako/Korra**  
****Genre: **Romance/Drama**  
****Word Count: **  
**Rating:** PG-13/T**  
****Prompt: **#37. Wake up, the day is dying. (This was also my original idea for _Tahnorra Week — Important Step in the Relationship._)**  
Summary: **Three lies Korra tells, and one she doesn't. Pocket language dictionaries, sunflower fields, and a summer filled with all the things that she cannot fix. — AU, mini-series. mako/korra, tahno/korra.**  
****Warnings: **Infidelity.

**Author's Notes: **Before I proceed, I would just like to make my views clear. Real Life infidelity: bad. Fictional infidelity: intriguing.

Personally, I think Korra has way too much integrity to actually ever cheat on a committed partner. But if we were to ask, "What would happen if so-and-so _were _to be unfaithful?" then I'd like to think that this story contains the kinds of circumstances that might lead someone like Korra to do this.

This is not meant to have an extravagant plot, it's not meant to have real specific elements, like a structured timeline, nor a specified region with any specific languages. (However, if you're up-to-date on the fact that I spent five weeks in Spain this summer, then you'll probably get where most of my inspiration came from.) This is meant to be an outlet for all of my traveling, and the experiences that I both had myself, and that I witnessed from my students. Some of this story is based on truths and some of it is completely and totally fabricated.

And finally, after writing so many installments of longer series (_**gray skies ahead**,** Personal Record**_), writing small, momentous drabbles or vignettes is actually really difficult right now. I have a hard time leaving them as drabbles should be (short, in the moment) because I keep finding myself wanting to make up back stories and provide deeper character development. I tried to find a balance here.

(Also, it is unfortunate that I lost inspiration for this so quickly after returning to the States... for a while, I never actually intended to post this at all. If _**Personal Record **_is, essentially, a written manifestation for my autumn feels, then _**Broken **_would be my tribute to summer.)

**Musical Inspiration: **Young Blood (Renholdër Remix) by The Naked and Famous and "Summertime Sadness" by Lana del Rey.

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**broken**  
_(i)_

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"So," he begins awkwardly. "I broke it off with Asami."

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Broken pieces of a beautiful girl's broken heart—

—_and she wonders if that's not all he might have broken._

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**#**1.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course everything's all right."

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She thinks she should be happy now.

But she's not.

Instead Korra's smiles feel like they are all teeth and no eyes, and her skin feels tight where it rests against her bones. This is wrong, she thinks. If you're gonna be with somebody, then you should be grateful for them and want to be with them and not be sitting there wishing every moment _while_ you're with them that you were actually somewhere else.

(Is this how _he_ used to feel? her mind whispers in between the sweet kisses and the gentle touches to her hand, her elbow, her knee. Is this what Mako meant when he said that it just _wasn't there—_with Asami?)

But Mako is with her now. It's what she's wanted all along, what they'd been waiting for, and after everything that has happened... It only makes sense, in this moment, for them to finally be able to love and fight and appreciate one another fully, freely, openly.

Doesn't it?

(And she can't even consider the idea of being alone again.)

Because Mako, despite all of his shortcomings, is the perfect gentleman when he wants to be. He is attentive and understanding, patient and kind, concerned and helpful, a provider in all the ways that make proud fathers-of-daughters pleased. She should feel relieved. Grateful, even, because no longer are there painful—_precious_—moments of yearning—_desperate_—pauses in too-awkward conversations, or the feel of caught-in-throat breaths and furtive glances under long lashes, or the feel of fingertips dusting across skin so carefully, so cautiously, that the touch might never happened at all. Now, they are free to desire one another openly. Now, he comes when she calls, and often even when she doesn't, and in his arms she feels cherished and protected and wanted—

But the fire is gone.

And she's not sure where it went or even for how long it has been missing. All she knows is that one day, not long after he left Asami—_broken pieces of a broken heart_—she looked up and Mako was there, but the heat wasn't, and instead all she had was a deep, hollow ache building in her chest.

They are out in the open now, she'd realized.

And as the first lie spills from her mouth, a ridiculous part of Korra begins to wonder if this might actually be the problem.


	2. (ii)

**Disclaimer: **I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this collection. Kudos to Bryke, indeed.**  
Pairing: **Tahno/Korra, Mako/Korra**  
Genre: **Romance/Drama**  
Word Count: **1,506**  
Rating:** PG-13/T**  
Prompt: **#37. Wake up, the day is dying. (This was also my original idea for _Tahnorra Week — Important Step in the Relationship._)  
**Summary:** Three lies Korra tells, and one she doesn't. Pocket language dictionaries, sunflower fields, and a summer filled with all the things that she cannot fix. — mako/korra, tahno/korra.  
**Warnings: **Infidelity.

**Author's Notes: **_11/12/12._I just want to say this one more time:It is unfortunate that I lost inspiration for this so quickly after returning to the States... for a while, I never actually intended to post this at all. If _**Personal Record **_were, essentially, a written manifestation of my autumn feels, then _**Broken **_would be my tribute to summer.

**Musical Inspiration: **Young Blood (Renholdër Remix) by The Naked and Famous. "Summertime Sadness" by Lana del Rey. This is the perfect summer love song, and this remix fits this story particularly well.

* * *

**broken  
**_(ii)_

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It's summer; that in and of itself is enough to alight the life within Korra's veins, but there is also a copy the _Lonely Planet_ magazine laying open out on the coffee table, its dog-eared pages rippling gently with the warm breeze from beyond the sliding glass door, and Mako is already sending disapproving looks before she has even told him where she wants to go.

"I'm not in the hospital anymore, Mako," she says, low and quiet. Under different circumstances, in another life, there might have been an edge to her voice, but time and tragedy and some shadow of maturity have dulled the blade to soft, woven ridges. "You don't have to take care of me."

The truth is that she wants to be taken care of—but to a certain _degree_, so long as it's for the right reasons. And it's hard, it's a fine line to toe, because on the one hand Korra is strong, independent, capable, and doesn't need anybody to tell her what to do. But then she remembers the way Mako would wrap his jacket around Asami's shoulders, sheltering her from the cold, and Korra can't deny the longing she felt when this tall beautiful boy opened the door for this lovely, beautiful girl. Korra doesn't need to be protected, and she doesn't want a protector, but she wants somebody to care enough to _try_. Is there even a point in such a dumb, childish wish? Korra knows that her thoughts only come in contradictions these days.

The _point_, Kora thinks, is that she wants more than to just be taken care of. But she can't tell them this. She has no words to describe these feelings. How can someone all at once want to not have to worry about taking care of herself anymore, to not have to be alone anymore, but in the same moment—_freedom_—want just to simply hear that the boy she'd wanted for so long cares for her, truly and unconditionally?

(Do you really, Mako? Really?)

In terms of indisputable facts and puzzle pieces and conclusions, Korra knows it to be true: she knows why he hovered at her bedside night after unthinkable night in that suffocating hospital room of thick white, and she knows the chain of events that led him to the decision to leave the woman—_beautiful girl_—he once thought he loved. When one follows the natural progression of their timeline together, trailing along the memories and histories with an objective eye, it seems only logical, perhaps even concomitant, that he is beside her now, that they are finally together now, as she'd always known they should be.

But his hand resting on hers feels like a weight that itches, and something is off.

Korra knows that there is some stupid, clichéd expression about actions speaking louder than words, but what she knows and what she hears—what she sees, what she feels—the distance is too great. Korra is a woman of action, but she's also a creature that craves balance; what her mind believes is not always so easily accepted by her heart—_and she's no eloquent speaker_—but sometimes acts without words simply aren't enough.

(Do even _you_ know, Mako, why you left her? she wonders.)

"You were dying," he whispers. "I almost lost you."

But then she thinks of the way he used to look at Asami from the passenger seat of her daddy's souped-up car, or the way he would try to cop a feel under her designer clothes in the movie theater darkness while _she_ sat only two seats away, how suddenly her memory expands, and she thinks—

Is that all?

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* * *

**#2.**

"I didn't tell you before because I didn't want to worry you. That's all."

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The doctors wanted to call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Korra personally deems it: _shit-out-of-luck. _

Unsurprisingly, the doctors had won out.

It's not even like she has all of the typical symptoms, but they'd needed an excuse to give her a medical leave of absence because she's obviously not in any state fit to head into her final year of university. (That will come soon. Later.) In the meantime, they managed to fudge something just enough to get her a little bit more time to recover; considering what she'd been through, they hadn't had to stretch things very far.

(Screeching tires and crying shards of glass scraping across her skin, breaking into her soul.

_Hit and run_ has such an insignificant ring to it, she thinks. These three words that tell nothing of the true story—one car twisted and broken, the other torched and blazing—nothing but the cold, basic mechanics.

They'd told her that his name was Noatok and that he'd had a little brother in the car with him; like that was supposed to mean something to her then, blood full of pain-killers and mind full of blank.)

They say it must have been a miracle, surely, the way her body was able to hand such an ordeal. And what had been worse than the external physical injuries themselves was the uncertainty of the extent of the damage _you couldn't plainly see, _and when words like _permanent _and _irreversible_ cut straight to the soul. But she was lucky. Unique. Different. She must have had the spirits of many, many guardian angels looking out for her, they said.

Right.

She'd very nearly died, and it was then that Mako fully realized just what she truly means to him.

"Korra, I know it might feel like it, but the accident really wasn't all that long ago—"

But her eyes are on the mountains and her fingers are clenched over the windowsill and she needs to get out.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling myself," she says steadily, eyes level with a birch tree branch swaying gently in the breeze. "No remaining physical injuries. Good as new, right? Thanks to Katara and Tenzin and _you_, remember, I supposedly had a near-miraculous recovery."

"But—"

"What I need now, and Tenzin agrees, is a little respite," and she still finds strength in such resignation. "This is well within my range of capabilities, Mako. But whatever, thanks for believing in me, I guess. Or not."

"Don't try to play that card with me, Korra—just months ago, we weren't even sure how much of yourself you'd be able to get back! And now you want to go in a road trip off to some—some yoga cabin? By yourself?"

"It's already been medically-approved," she tells him evenly, but this only riles him further. "My doctor signed off on it two days ago. And it's not just yoga and it's not a _cabin_. Tenzin hooked me up with a few of his spiritual-know-how buddy contacts and knows that this place is supposed to be world-renowned for its healing capabilities. It's not quite as good as Katara's clinic down South, but within a week or two, or maybe a month, he said I'd—"

"But why go alone?" he asks her, and she doesn't have another lie at the ready, so instead, they stand in silence.

After all. What do you do when _just_ living life just isn't good enough anymore? When you learn that what you thought you wanted, now matter how much you might have _actually_ wanted it before, isn't really what you want now. What do you do? Do you keep on trying?

Do you let go?

(The days are dying fast, and so is she, and so is the world, but here she is standing still and silent and not doing and damn thing about it.)

Korra closes her eyes and, for reasons she can't explain, her mind is suddenly bursting with bright, brilliant yellows and greens in an endless field of sunflowers. She hasn't seen such a thing since she was a little girl, but the vision is as clear and vivid as if she had only seen it that morning. Her mind becomes a swirling mess of the blue-green aquamarines of some coastal island off to the north, right over the border, one that she has never seen outside of a _Lonely Planet_ magazine, and suddenly she is obsessed. She sees white sand so fine that it looks like dust cleansed by the moon and she knows that she can't deny it a minute longer.

"I just need to do this," she tells him seriously, and she hopes that he leaves it at that, because there is nothing else she can say.

"Do you really want to be alone? For this?"

To be alone, alone, alone—

"No," Korra whispers, and she could cry because this is the closest thing to truth she has allowed herself in many, many days; she won't though, she won't cry. "But this is just something I need to do by myself."

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She doesn't waste any more time.

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End file.
